


The Madman with a Broom

by st_mick



Series: Niffler [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Torchwood
Genre: And a little crazy, He's kind of badass on a broom, Ianto's mad flying skills, M/M, Quidditch, Try not to drink and transfigure...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 16:38:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17870843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_mick/pseuds/st_mick
Summary: An alumni quidditch match has been arranged, and Ianto is playing his old position as chaser.  Jack and the Torchwood team find out first hand why everyone thinks Ianto is just a little bit crazy.  After a rousing win, the winning team, Dumbledore's Army and the members of Torchwood Three meet at the Hog's Head to celebrate.  Conversation turns to jinxes, and Professor McGonagall challenges Ianto's rusty transfiguration skills.





	The Madman with a Broom

Two weeks later, Ianto could barely contain his excitement, and it was a new experience for everyone as the normally reserved young man became more animated than anyone (besides Jack) had yet seen him.  He had given copies of _Quidditch Through the Ages_ to everyone on the team, and even sent a copy to Rhys, via Gwen.  On the day of the match, he arranged for Luna and Draco to meet them all at the hub, so they could apparate to Hogsmeade before heading to Hogwarts.  Gryffindor were playing Hufflepuff that morning, and then what had been dubbed the “All Star” match would be played, directly after.

The team met for breakfast that morning.  They were chatting excitedly about the upcoming spectacle.  Ianto was excited, but as always before a match, he couldn’t manage anything more than tea and toast.  Owen gave him no end of grief, but Rhys defended him, saying he’d always felt the same, before a rugby match.

They proceeded to the hub, where Luna and Draco apparated, right on time.  Draco took Owen and Toshiko, and Luna took Gwen and Rhys.  Ianto took Jack and his broom.  They walked from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts, enjoying a very fine morning.  Once they reached the quidditch pitch, they found a great set of seats with Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, George and Angelina and settled in, with the former players explaining the action to everyone. 

During a lull in the play, Ron spotted Ianto’s broom.  “Blimey, Nif – is that what I think it is?”

“That’s the best broom out there!” George exclaimed. 

Harry gave a low, appreciative whistle.

“That’s an impressive broom, for amateur use,” Ginny remarked, eyeing it closely.

“And expensive!” Ron blurted.

“Hazard pay and no family,” Ianto shrugged, “means I can indulge in a hobby.”  It was common knowledge that he received pay from the Ministry as an Auror, in addition to his salary from Torchwood.  Never mind the government payout to the Torchwood survivors – that had been eroded by the cost of caring for Lisa.  Ianto’s indulgences were relatively few.  Fine clothing, decadent bed linens, and a decent car were where he splurged.  His flat was modest, and his belongings were few.  So his only other real extravagance was the broom.

The reminder of hazard pay had the others scrambling for a different topic of conversation.  Ron, Hermione and Harry were still disconcerted by Ianto’s announcement that he had never expected to survive his assignment to Torchwood.  Draco and Luna had reassured them that this fatalism had subsided, but no one wanted to revisit the topic during a quidditch match.

There was plenty of friendly ribbing between the many Gryffindors they were sitting with and Ianto, the lone Hufflepuff until Luna arrived with Rolf.  The Torchwood team cheered with him for Hufflepuff, and everyone enjoyed the match a great deal.  It was a close thing, and Ianto was chuffed when his house won the match with a last minute goal and an almost accidental capture of the snitch.

The stands filled even more as the students decided to forgo lunch and more and more alumni arrived to watch the match.  Ianto, Harry, Ginny and George left to change into their gear and get ready for the match.  When the teams took to the field, the stands were almost thunderous.

A familiar voice was amplified through the stadium, as Lee Jordan stepped in to call the match.  “Welcome everyone to the first annual alumni All-Star quidditch match.  For the Orange team, here’s the lineup:  Flying Chaser will be Marcus Flint, Slytherin, Graham Montague, Slytherin, and Zacharias Smith, Hufflepuff.  Beaters will be Lucian Bole, Slytherin, and Jason Samuels, Ravenclaw.  Playing Keeper will be Grant Page, Ravenclaw, and the Orange team’s Seeker will be Cho Chang, Ravenclaw.

The stadium applauded enthusiastically for the team, but a ripple of excitement pulsed through the crowd as Lee went on to announce the Purple team’s lineup.  “And for team Purple, the Chasers will be Ginny Weasley, Gryffindor, Roger Davies, Ravenclaw, and Ianto Jones, Hufflepuff.  Beaters will be George Weasley, Gryffindor, and Maxine O’Flaherty, Hufflepuff.  Playing Keeper will be Oliver Wood, Gryffindor, and the Purple team’s Seeker will be Harry Potter, Gryffindor.

The crowd erupted in applause.  Ianto couldn’t help but think the teams should have been broken up a bit more, though with four Gryffindors on one team and three Slytherins on the other, there really was no other way to arrange them.  He heard another ripple through the stands, and judging from what he was hearing, he could only assume that someone had spotted his broom.

The indefatigable Madam Hooch was the referee for the match.  Wood and Montague faced off as team captains, as in days of old.  Once the captains shook hands, showing all of their old animosity, Madam Hooch released the bludgers and the snitch, and tossed the quaffle in the air.

Ianto kicked off of the ground and felt the incredible rush that flying always gave him.  Good reflexes, better instincts, and the best broom money could buy had him to quaffle, first.  Lee Jordan could be heard, practically crowing.  “And that’s Jones who’s come up with the quaffle.  Yes, ladies and gents, our very own Niffler, the madman with a broom, and your eyes are not deceiving you.  That is, indeed, a top of the line Firebolt 10k he’s flying.”

Ianto lost track of the commentary as he swung wide left towards the stands, picking up speed as he blew past.  He flew around the back of the goals, turning hard and tossing the quaffle to Ginny, who got a clear shot at the goal as the Keeper tracked Ianto.

“And that’s a goal for the Purple team!” Lee shouted as Ginny hit her target. 

Ianto looked around.  Harry and Cho were up high, waiting for a glimpse of the snitch.  He tracked the Orange beaters as he watched to see which chaser would come up with the quaffle.  It was Smith.  Ianto grinned as he spotted how the chaser was holding the quaffle.

“And that’s Smith with the quaffle.  And here comes Jones, hot on his… Jones just picked his pocket!  That’s Jones with the quaffle, over to Davies, to Weasley, and Davies, for the goal!”

Purple scored another goal before Orange scored two in quick succession.  As the match wore on, the play got more intense.  Purple was up by three goals, the score one hundred to seventy.  As Purple scored again, things began to turn a bit ugly.

The next time Ianto had the quaffle, Flint and Montague flanked him, crowding in so close he could not steer away from them, nor could he get away by putting on any speed.  When it became obvious that their intention was to fly him into one of the goalposts, he had scant seconds to decide which player Orange could least afford to lose. 

He decided it was Flint, so at the last possible moment he tossed the quaffle over his head to Ginny, who he knew was tracking them, then slammed his body into Montague, jostling the three brooms to the left just enough so it was Flint who collided with the goalpost.  His right thigh scraped painfully along the side of the goalpost, letting him know how closely he had escaped another quidditch-related concussion.  He knew he’d have a nasty bruise as a souvenir for the day.

As he and Montague cleared the goalpost, Ianto began to disentangle himself, but the Slytherin chaser threw an elbow, connecting with Ianto’s left cheekbone and making him see stars.  Montague got a whistle for cobbing, and Ianto scored the penalty shot.  Flint was out for a quarter hour, during which Purple edged further ahead.

The next time up the pitch, as Madam Hooch was watching Smith and Ginny battle for the quaffle, Montague body checked Ianto over the stands, hard enough to knock him off his broom, leaving him hanging from his broom by one hand. 

He calmly looked around, assessing, as though dangling precariously hundreds of feet above the ground was a completely normal occurrence in his life.  He was close to the stands, so he swung his body hard enough that his feet were over the outer railing.  Within seconds he had found his footing.  Hauling his broom back down to waist level, he sprinted along the narrow rail before hurling himself onto the broom and tearing back up the pitch. 

Ginny knocked the quaffle from Smith’s hands and Ianto grabbed it as he sped by.  “And Jones goes from hanging on to his broom by one hand to a damned fine re-seating to scoring in under a minute!” Lee’s voice boomed through the stadium.

The quaffle had made its way up and back down the pitch several more times when Harry and Cho found they were not alone, far above the stadium.  They had been circling one another, chatting idly as they kept their eyes peeled for the snitch.  Harry spoke first.  “What’re you doing, Nif?” 

Ianto was looking intently.  Davies had just scored again.  He had to time this, just right...

“Nif, you’re not going to…” Cho spoke, but then she groaned as she spotted the wicked grin that had just broken out on Ianto’s face.

“Jesus,” Harry groaned.  “And you wonder why people call you mad.”  As Ianto dove back towards the pitch, Harry shouted after him, “Just don’t die, all right?”

Ginny had noticed they were down a chaser, and as she shadowed Montague back up the pitch, she glanced up.  Grinning, she pulled back, then repositioned herself just behind and below Montague.

From the stands, Jack had been tracking Ianto throughout the match.  The man could fly like nothing he’d ever seen before!  Ianto was absolutely fearless, which Jack knew from experience could be a dangerous thing.  The way he had remounted his broom had all but made Jack swoon as all of his blood fled south.  He had watched Ianto ascend, going higher than chasers normally would.  And then… Jack’s stomach was in his feet and his heart was in his mouth as he watched Ianto make a near vertical dive. 

Ianto was almost perpendicular to the ground and speeding towards it at an imprudent rate of speed.  Montague never saw him coming.  He barely felt it when, as Ianto sped past, he neatly punched the quaffle from between Montague’s arm and his side without even touching Montague.  Ginny caught the quaffle and turned, racing towards the goal. 

As soon as he’d touched the quaffle, Ianto began pulling out of the dive.  As the ground rushed towards him, it occurred to him that this really was a rather foolish tactic.  He pulled out of the dive and banked hard to reduce his speed, and his left knee scraped along the ground hard enough to bruise it and leave gouges on his knee pads.  By the time he had regained position, Purple was on defense again, after Ginny’s goal.

Ianto was having a blast.  He missed a pass from Ginny, but was able to use his broomstick to hit it towards Davies to keep it in play.  Flint stole it before they could score, but he was still pleased with the move.  On another approach to the goal, Davies got body checked and dropped the quaffle.  Ianto was out of position to catch it, but he saw an opportunity when Smith recovered it.  Ianto stood on his broomstick and jumped, catching the quaffle as Smith passed it to Flint.

His feet missed the broom as he came back down, but he pitched the quaffle to Ginny, who sped past as he grabbed his broom with both hands.  For a moment, he just hung there again, then he swung one foot up.  He brought the broom vertical, rotating slightly as he watched Ginny score the next goal.

Sometime later, Ianto was vaguely aware that Harry and Cho were circling the pitch, low to the ground.  He had the quaffle and had flown around the back side of the goals, coming around and chucking the quaffle through the left goal post.  In the next instant, a bludger hit him in the side, and he was jolted into a memory. 

 _The giant’s head exploded_.

Ianto managed to reach the ground, where he stood on shaky legs and dropped his broom.  He vaguely heard the crowd react to something…  Then someone was at his side, clasping his arm as his knees gave way.

“Nif?”

Ianto looked up, and Draco saw his eyes were clouded over, haunted by a memory.  Draco patted his cheek, then began chaffing his wrists.  “Come on, Nif.  We’re on the quidditch pitch at Hogwarts.  You just played a hell of a match, and Potter caught the snitch.  And Jack’s going to be here any minute, if I can’t get you on your feet quickly enough.”

The last bit seemed to do the trick.  Ianto blinked, and his eyes cleared.   “Think a rib or two might be cracked,” he grinned madly as he let Draco help him to his feet.  Draco handed him his broom and walked beside him, leading him over to the medical tent.

“Not surprised.  Bole hit that bludger as hard as he could, and from entirely too close.  I was almost surprised you kept your seat.”  He grinned as Ianto huffed.  “I said ‘almost’,” he laughed.

By the time they’d walked to the tent, Jack and Owen were there.  “You all right?” Jack asked lightly, though the concern in his eyes belied his tone.

Ianto grinned as he sat on the table Draco had led him to.  “That depends.  Did I make that last goal before or after Harry caught the snitch?”

Owen snorted.  “Good to have priorities.”

“Before,” Draco chuckled.  He began moving his wand over Ianto.  “I see Ginny Weasley has been wreaking havoc again,” he complained.

“Hey, she kept the swelling down so I could see to make that penalty shot,” Ianto protested.  Ginny had performed a quick healing spell, after Montague’s elbow.  Truth be told, for all her talent, Ginny was a bit rubbish at healing spells.

“Yes, but she made a bloody great mess, and I can’t do anything about it.  So you’re going to look like you’ve been brawling for a week, at least.”

He helped Ianto take off his jersey.  After a few moments, he confirmed two cracked ribs.  “ _Brackium Emendo_ ,” he said, waving his wand at the ugly bruises that were already forming.  “Can’t do anything about the bruises, at this point.”

“I’ll take bruises over cracked ribs, any day.  Thank you,” Ianto said, pulling his jersey back on.  “But can you so something about these?”  He had already pulled off his shin and knee guards.  Now he stood and pulled down his trousers.

Owen whistled at the massive scraping bruise on the outside of his right thigh as Draco waved his wand over Ianto’s left knee.  After speaking a spell over each, Draco handed Ianto a potion.  “You’re still going to be bruised and sore tomorrow, but at least not broken,” he grinned.

Ianto swallowed the potion and did up his trousers.  “Thanks.  I’m going to go shower.  Everyone’s meeting up in Hogsmeade, after.  Care to join?”

Draco shook his head.  “Think I’ll pass.”

“C’mon.  One drink,” Ianto said.  “Have a drink with me, and then you can go.”

Draco rolled his eyes.  “Why do you insist on making your friends endure my presence?  You know they hate me.”

“Luna doesn’t.  Neville doesn’t.  Susan doesn’t.”

“We don’t,” Jack added, and Owen nodded.

For a moment, it looked as though Draco would keep arguing, but then he nodded.  “Thank you,” he said with a small smile.

Ianto grinned.  “Great.  I’m going to go shower.  I’ll be back before you’re done packing up, here.”

Draco nodded and turned away.  Owen offered to help him pack up.

Once in the now empty locker room, he quickly stripped and stepped into the shower.  The water felt brilliant as it flowed over his sore muscles.  He pressed his hands against the tiles in front of him and hung his head, allowing the uneasiness in his belly to subside.

“Reminded you of the giant, didn’t it?”

Ianto didn’t even flinch.  He’d known Jack would follow him.  Could tell from his expression when he’d entered the medical tent, earlier, and the way Jack’s eyes had tracked his every move.  He sighed.  “Doesn’t matter, Jack.”

Jack’s presence hadn’t startled him, but the feeling of Jack’s body, warm and naked, embracing him from behind, came as a bit of a surprise.  “Jack,” he protested.

“Door’s locked,” Jack breathed into Ianto’s neck.  “Now talk to me.”

Ianto blew out a breath.  “What’s there to say?  There for a moment, I was back there.  But Draco grounded me.  Dragged me back.  I…”  He turned in Jack’s embrace, burrowed his face in to Jack’s neck, breathed in Jack’s gorgeous scent.  He felt his body relax.  “I didn’t mean to make its head explode,” he whispered.

“I know.  You had no way of knowing that the explosive force of that blast would do that kind of damage.”

“I guess I was assuming it’d be thick-skulled, like a troll,” Ianto frowned.

“Or a Welshman?” Jack traced the bruise on Ianto’s face tenderly.  “You were a wild man out there, today.  You scared the shit out of me about seven different times.”

“Good you’ve opted for a shower, then,” Ianto allowed Jack to guide him away from the unpleasant memories.  Really, there was nothing more to dwell on.  Ianto had done what he’d felt he had to do.  It hadn’t worked out as he’d intended, but there was no way to change that.  At least it’d been quick, and the giant hadn’t suffered.

“You’re a cheeky sod, you know that?” Jack grinned.  “Gods and goddesses, you were amazing.  When I wasn’t having a heart attack, I was hard as a rock!”

“Really?” Ianto raised an eyebrow but looked quite pleased. 

Jack rolled his hips, allowing his erection to slide along the length of Ianto’s rapidly growing interest.  “Really, really,” he whispered as Ianto moaned. 

He reached behind Ianto to grab a handful of shampoo/shower gel that seemed to be the staple of locker rooms, magical and muggle, alike.  He rubbed his right hand along Ianto’s, making sure both were soapy before guiding both down to wrap around their cocks.

Ianto threw his head back and let out another moan.  “You realize that this is just to get us through the social obligations of the evening?” he whispered, leaning back in and biting Jack’s earlobe.  “I am going to keep you coming all night.”

Jack gave a groan as he thrust up into the circle of their joined grip.  The combination of his cock rubbing along the hot, hard length of Ianto’s, their hands, and the soap was amazing, particularly after hours of watching the sexiest Welsh wizard he’d ever met performing amazing feats on a broom.  He’d been on edge from the instant Ianto had snagged the quaffle when the referee first tossed it into the air.  The way he’d hurtled through the air, tearing past them in the stands…

Jack opened his eyes.  “You buzzed the stands, right at the beginning…”

Ianto grinned, rolling his hips lazily, squeezing his hand, _just so_.  He leaned in, his breath hot in Jack’s ear.  “So you noticed that, did you?”

Jack’s hips snapped forward in response.  “Was that for me?” he asked, his voice low and surprisingly even.  He smiled salaciously.

Ianto’s head dropped forward, and he nipped Jack’s collarbone.  Gods, there was so much that he did, that was just for Jack.  How to tell him that, without scaring him off?  He sighed.  Start small.  Be honest, someplace other than their bed during the witching hour.

He went still.  _Their_ bed?  He shivered.  It was, wasn’t it?

“Yes, Jack.  That was for you.”

Jack gave a lustful moan and came all over their hands.  Jack’s reaction, as much as his pleasure, pulled Ianto’s orgasm from him.  They spent long moments leaning against one another until they could muster the energy to finish showering.

***

Ianto had suggested that the Hog’s Head would be less crowded after the match, and that was true, though the entirety of Dumbledore’s Army, along with the Torchwood contingent and several of the teachers from Hogwarts had the place quite well attended.  Aberforth Dumbledore was not amused.  That is, he was not amused until the muggles got at the firewhisky.

Owen was quite entertaining.  Tosh enjoyed the giggle water.  Rhys ranted a bit about Ianto’s flying, which seemed to annoy Gwen no end.  And Jack found something that was at least as effective as hypervodka, for giving him a buzz.

Jack chatted with Aberforth, convincing him to offer up some food.  Ianto hadn’t eaten anything besides tea and toast, all day, and Jack was rather hoping his young lover would make good on his promise, when they got back to Cardiff.  He knew Ianto was being careful with the firewhisky, but even so, no harm in doing what he could to prevent a hangover in the morning.

When Jack brought over a plate of food and placed it in front of Ianto, it started a rush on the bar as the others went to make their orders.  Ianto had given the team a supply of wizarding money, so they seemed to be holding their own, though Seamus Finnigan did seem especially solicitous towards Toshiko.

Ianto ate his food, and talked to Jack and Draco, who were seated on either side of him.  He had slung an arm around Draco’s shoulders as they’d entered the pub, and if anyone had an objection to Malfoy’s presence, they certainly weren’t going to voice it in Ianto’s presence, after the match he’d just flown.  As they’d found their seats, Jack had leaned in close and whispered, “You are a genius.  And a good friend.”  He licked behind Ianto’s ear, causing a full-body shudder and a blush.

What little remained of the afternoon and evening was great fun.  Old friends and new, the group just sort of fit together.  Draco loosened up and was laughing and talking, at first just with Ianto, Luna, Neville and Owen, then Susan joined in, and soon the banter between old rivals was actually friendly.  As it turned out, it was the DA’s first real chance to show Draco that they knew he was walking a different path from generations of Malfoys, before.

A while later, Professor McGonagall, Madam Hooch, and Hagrid joined in.  Part of the fun was that the tables were being shoved together so everyone could be in one large group rather than several small ones.  Jack flirted shamelessly with Professor McGonagall, and it took all the strength everyone possessed combined not to giggle when she blushed.  After all, who _didn’t_ blush when Jack turned his attention to them?

Conversation flowed, and soon Rhys was reliving some of the more exciting moments of the match.  “And he just sort of… _ran_ along the rail and jumped…” he laughed and looked around the table, suddenly feeling self-conscious.  “I guess that’s all pretty normal, for you all, but it was bloody amazing, from where I was sitting.”

“No, no,” Lee Jordan piped up, and Ianto groaned as Jack threw an arm around him.  “Believe me, Rhys, almost nothing Nif did today was _normal_.  Well, okay.  Normal for him, maybe.”

“What you saw in the students’ match was normal,” Ginny added with a grin.

“In other words, Ianto was just showing off?” Gwen lifted her firewhisky to her lips with a smirk.

Ianto looked at the table self-consciously, and Jack all but felt him withdraw.  Thankfully, Draco spoke almost before anyone could register the barb, keeping the temperature from dropping significantly around the table.  “It could be argued that doing what comes naturally isn’t showing off so much as merely expressing freely.”

“Don’t let Harkness hear you say that, he’ll be expressing a bit more freely than you’re comfortable with,” Owen snorted, throwing back another glass of firewhisky.

“There’s just something about flying,” Ianto said quietly, a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth.  Jack’s own mouth watered as an intense desire to taste those lips almost overtook him. 

“There is that,” Harry agreed, almost reverently.

George spoke up.  “Not for nothing we always called him a madman with a broom.  What I could never figure is, how did you get so good, if you grew up practically muggle?”

Ianto took another swallow of firewhisky and shook his head.  “Me taid gave me a toy broom before I was two.  Me mam says I was flying before I was walking properly.”

“Grandad,” Rhys put in, when most everyone looked confused.  Ianto’s accent was growing a bit thicker, the more he drank.  It was no surprise that a bit of Welsh was creeping in, as well.

“Theodophilus Jones gave you a toy broom,” Professor McGonagall’s tone was skeptical.

Ianto snorted.  “Na.  That old bastard never gave me anything but a rotter of a tad.”  The room went quiet, as no one had ever heard Ianto speak quite so bluntly. 

“Thought you didn’t believe in speaking ill of the dead,” Gwen said, her eyes wide.

Ianto shrugged.  “Efallai y bydd yn gorffwys mewn heddwch[1].  As for me taid,” he grinned wickedly.  “He ain’t dead, yet.”

Rhys and Professor McGonagall burst into laughter, followed by the others, the tension in the room broken.  Ianto grinned at Professor McGonagall.  “Sorry, I was speaking of me Taid Cadogan.  Me mam’s tad.”

McGonagall nodded.  “I remember Ioan.  And Theodophilus.”  She looked up, remembering.  “Ioan was Ravenclaw.  And Theodophilus was Slytherin.”

Ianto grinned again.  “Apparently, I was the first ‘puff as far back as either side of the family could remember.”

“First pouf, too, I’d wager,” Owen sniggered into his glass.

Somehow, Jack managed to reach around both Ianto and Draco to smack Owen in the back of the head just as Toshiko did the same from where she sat on the other side of him.  As he bitched about the abuse, a dozen wands came out and were placed on the table without a word being spoken. 

“Wands away, Lads,” Ianto chuckled.  “No threatening me muggles.”  He looked over at Owen, who had been startled by the implied threat.  “Not even Owen.”  He winked at Ginny.  “Although…  If I recall correctly Mrs. Potter-Weasley casts a wicked _Bat-Bogey_ hex.”

“Which does…” Owen looked wide-eyed.

“Exactly what it says on the tin,” Ianto chuckled.  “Turns your bogeys into giant bats that pretty much crawl out of your nose and attack your face.”

“Ew!” Tosh and Gwen said in unison as Rhys and Jack laughed.  Owen looked horrified.

Ginny inclined her head in acknowledgement of the compliment.  “And your _Ducklifors_ jinx was always rather fun,” she grinned.

“Of course it was, he was always good at transfiguration,” Ron laughed. 

Ianto laughed, as well.  “I haven’t done that jinx in years.”

An awkwardness seemed to ripple around the table.  No one had ever been comfortable with Ianto not having his wand in the muggle world, but he had never complained.  The fact that they’d only recently found out now how painful it had been for him did not sit well.  “Well, Mr. Jones,” Professor McGonagall briskly spoke into the silence, “No time like the present.”

Ianto raised an eyebrow at the professor, who looked over her glasses at him in challenge.  Ianto shrugged and pulled out his wand.  “Okay.  So who wants to be a duck?”

“I think I would enjoy that,” Luna spoke up.

“That was a joke, Luna.  I’m not going to try to transfigure a person, after all this time.”

“I trust you.”

Ianto smiled fondly at his friend.  “Thanks.”

“Here,” George rolled an empty firewhisky bottle down the table. 

Ianto swirled his wand and said, “ _Ducklifors_.” 

The bottle immediately transfigured into a large Welsh Harlequin duck.  As the table laughed and clapped, Ianto canted his head and waved his wand again.  The duck became a puffin.

“Very nice,” McGonagall smiled.  “How about… a mantle clock.”

Ianto groaned, and everyone laughed.  He gave the wand a wave and the puffin became a goblet. 

McGonagall lifted and eyebrow.  “That is not a clock, Mr. Jones.”

“No, but I’m not going to risk torturing a puffin, now am I?” he frowned.  Taking a deep breath, he focused on the goblet.  Then very deliberately he waved his wand in a strange pattern, and everyone leaned back from the table as the goblet transformed into a lovely, tall, intricately carved grandfather clock.

“You are trying too hard, Mr. Jones.”  Professor McGonagall took out her wand and moved the clock from where it was towering above them on the tabletop to the floor over in the corner, where she opened it and inspected its workings. 

“Sorry!  Sorry,” he was blushing quite a bit, embarrassed.  “Shouldn’t have tried that, after so much firewhisky.”

“It is perfect,” she announced, having set and wound it.  She looked over to a scowling Aberforth and waved a dismissive hand.  “I’ll change it back before we go if you don’t like it, but it really is quite beautiful.”  As soon as she returned to the table, Aberforth began inspecting the clock.

“It’s not a matter of drink,” she said kindly, once she’d taken her seat.  “You think it’s been too long, so you’re putting more thought and effort into it than you need to.  Just relax, Ianto, and trust your instincts.”

Ianto blinked.  He couldn’t remember more than a handful of times she had called him anything other than ‘Mr. Jones’.  He suspected she had called him ‘Ianto’ now, to be sure he heard what she was trying to tell him.  He smiled.  “I will.  Thank you.”

The rest of the evening passed quite pleasantly with food, drink, and lots of laughter and conversation.  And when they apparated home, Ianto more than lived up to his promise to Jack.

***

[1] May he rest in peace

**Author's Note:**

> Gah! More pieces are practically pouring out of my ears, but I can't seem to get them written! Will try to post the next section, soon. 
> 
> No idea where this one came from - hope everyone likes quidditch... But Ianto would not get off the bloody broom, and it had to be done. So... enjoy!


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